


A Heretic's Kiss

by GetOutOFMyTreeNovice



Series: A Heretic's Kiss [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Banter, Canonical Character Death, Cuddling, Eating Disorder, Emotional Manipulation, Hospitals, It's a big angsty mess, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicide, Multi, Murder, Obsessive Behavior, Self Harm, Severe Depression, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Thoughts of Suicide, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, dub con, mentions of an eating disorder, mentions of self harm, severe emotional pain., there's cute stuff later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 17:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2032869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GetOutOFMyTreeNovice/pseuds/GetOutOFMyTreeNovice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malik sometimes would just go off, throwing things and snarling and throwing punches at the wall. He'd end up panting open mouthed as he glared down at whatever he threw. Altair didn't understand how someone's temper could be triggered by nothing, but something told him he was the cause.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Heretic's Kiss

_I will battle for the sun._

 

When they first met, he tried to shoot him. The half-German mutt was known to be vicious and deadly and there the idiot was, standing in plain view, just waiting to get his arrogant head blown off. He wasn't really on either side, killing everyone that came into his sight. He was fair game and Malik was damned if he wasn't going to take advantage. 

He was known to the Syrian army as The Mongoose. Fast and accurate, he cut down anyone too close. And he had these glowing amber eyes that Malik only heard about. He was intrigued by this strange half-breed beast of a man. Until now. 

He lifted his gun and aimed carefully, letting his lungs fill with air before letting off a shot, a split second after the man turned to stare straight through him, as if judging his soul. Malik missed the shot and swore, sure that he was going to die for some stupid interest. 

He moved like a tiger, all grace and muscle, always keeping eye contact. Malik was frozen by him, paralyzed from those burning eyes. It cost him dearly. The Mongoose bared his teeth and tore into him, the only sound in his ears his own screams of pain and terror, and then he was gone and Malik was left on the ground with a useless arm and a sword through his belly. It happened so fast that Malik couldn't get his dumb head to get working again. He just lay there in his own blood, stunned. He'd die. Just because of some stupid mistake. It burned hot on his pride and he felt so weak. And he was weak. He was laying in a puddle of blood. He felt like he had been corned by a cobra, entranced with those wicked eyes and dealt a vicious blow. He'd been easy to cut down. His father would never forgive him. 

Malik sent a prayer up to Allah and forced himself to sit up, yelling in pain as the blade sunk a bit deeper. It wasn't all the way through him. He could probably survive. His arm was in tatters. He'd  
probably lose it and the thought lodged in a hard lump in his throat. He'd already almost lost Kadar to this damned war. Malik leaned forward, whimpering as the sword shifted inside him. With his good arm, he pulled out his radio and tried to put out a message if anyone was listening. 

“Encounter with the Mongoose...Gravely wounded... Bleeding out fast..” He repeated in between gulps of air, the searing pain in his stomach making it difficult to breathe. It seemed like forever and he was about to give up when he finally received an answer. 

“What are your coordinates, soldier?” it was full of static, but it lit him again. He might survive this. He panted out the numbers on his GPS and then collapsed back with a yell of pain. He had no strength left. He closed his eyes and prayed to Allah that his allies would come for him soon. 

 

Something about that last kill kept ticking at the back of his head. His Eagle vision didn't show the Syrian as an enemy. He couldn't bother with it now. There was a large mass of soldiers up ahead and if he was going to live through this war, he needed to end them all. If he was to protect what he had, he needed to do this. For Maria. And his unborn child. That would stay unborn. 

Altair walked towards the camp, unsheathing his sword and twitching to let out his hidden blade. To feel the hot blood streaming down his arms as he cut these mongrels down. It was their own fault he turned against them. He was ran out of his village because he was part German. He was shunned from everywhere he went. He had to run into the desert with his wife so she wouldn't get stoned to death. For carrying his mutt child. 

It was their own fault. He snuck closer to the camp, using his Eagle vision to scout out his enemies. They started calling him 'Mongoose' when he became involved with this wretched war. But they were wrong. He wasn't a mongoose. He was an eagle. Free and ferocious. He'd use his talons to cut down every man if he had to. 

Discretion wasn't his strong suit. The Creed demanded discretion. It was just easier to let himself get thrown into a pile of soldiers and claw his way through them. And it really didn't matter how he got through them as long as he achieved his goal. 

The last kill breached itself in his mind again and he hissed. Sentiment would only make things difficult. 

Altair slunk into a tent and slit the soldier's throat before he could yell. Everything is Permitted.  
He strode out with the dead soldier's head and flung it at the other men. They stood for a moment, in shock. He moved. Nothing is True. 

He let them come close before ripping them apart, his sword was his claws; his hidden blade, a cruel hooked beak. They fell easily. Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent. They were far from innocent. 

He slashed and parried and turned and stabbed and they collapsed around him like flowers to a frost. Hide in plain sight. He might have broken that one a little. 

He moved and grabbed the General, flicking his hidden blade out, finally, and pressing it to the man's throat, hissing at him to stop his blubbering. Do not compromise the brotherhood. 

Altair stared out at all the live soldiers, knowing full well they could all see his face. He pressed his blade a little closer to the man's throat. Never compromise the brotherhood. 

He looked around for an exit. There were a few. He cut the general's throat and darted towards his first option, slashing at a soldier and stumbling a little. A sword tore through his sleeve, baring his tattoo. Never compromise the brotherhood. Another one broken. Altair ran the man through and sprinted away, turning sharply to get away from the men. He climbed up a tree and sat silently. 

Stupid. He was stupid. He'd be punished for this, he knew. And he'd accept it. 

 

He felt hazy. Dizzy. Sentenced... Sentenced to death. He was to die. His brothers jerked his head back by his short hair, baring his throat to the Master. This is how it was to end. A successful mission to end in death. He closed his eyes. 

 

_“He.. he was what?”_

_“An assassin. I saw the tattoo. I can't believe there's some still alive. We went in and raided that castle. They were all dead.”_

_“Vengeful spirit?”_

_“No, that's ridiculous. Ghosts aren't real. He must have escaped. I'll bet that's why he's killing on both sides. We killed his family.”_

_“Those beasts don't really have family, do they? I can't see any woman wanting to sleep with a murderer.”_

_“They are their own family. They call themselves 'the Brotherhood..”_

 

Altair opened his eyes. He was in the infirmary. Not dead? He looked down at himself. He was bloody. But not dead. He wondered why. 

“I see you've woken.” The Master was sitting in the chair next to his bed. 

“Why am I not dead?” Altair stared at him. The ugly old man scowled back. 

“You're valuable. You're our best and we still need you. But only after you've been punished enough for your crimes.” 

“I'll go back to the camp and finish them, Master-” He was cut off.

“No you will not, boy. Others will go. Others that know how to follow the creed. You are being demoted. You'll earn your rank back just like the other novices. I'm sending you to Jerusalem.” Altair growled and sat up, hissing in pain. 

“We are at war, and you want to send me off to learn my place? I know it, Master. Let me show you.” Altair flinched when Al Mualim cuffed him. 

“You will do as I tell you. You don't know your place. Otherwise you would not argue.” The Master stood, frowning down at Altair. “You will stay in here for two weeks and then you go to Jerusalem.” 

Altair said nothing and Al Mualim left. He'd find a way out of this. He always did. 

 

Malik was awake. It was dark and he looked around, trying to see where he was. A tent of some sort. There was talking outside. Malik blinked and then sat up and stretched, yelping when he moved his sore belly. It was healing. He wondered how long he was unconscious. He licked his lips and realized how hungry and thirsty he was. His stomach growled at him. He tried to get up and then realized there were needles in his arm and he panicked, jerking his good arm to tear them out. He stumbled out of the bed and knocked over a small table. 

“Woah there, Al-Sayf. Calm down. You're safe. Didn't realize you'd wake up so soon. You should stay in bed.” Malik stared at the old face smiling cautiously back at him, lit by the lantern he was holding. He relaxed slightly at the sight of the familiar uniform. “I'm Commander Ahmadi. I lead the west line. You've been unconscious for two weeks. We were worried you wouldn't make it,” the man smiled kindly at him. “Good thing you're a fighter.”

“What about my arm? Is it salvageable?” Malik asked, knowing the answer already and not wanting to hear it. The Commander's smile fell. 

“We're sending you home. Our doctors aren't sure if better trained ones can't fix it. But I saw your arm, Al-Sayf. I wouldn't hope too much.” 

“No. I can't go home now. We're losing soldiers faster than a cold spreads and I can use a gun still. I'm right-handed.” Malik watched the man's face. 

“You'll get gangrene if you stay here. You go home and get fixed up. If you still have both your arms in a month and you're healthy, you can come back. But otherwise, I wouldn't want to risk a.. your life.” Cripple. He was already calling him a cripple. Nausea hit him hard and he closed his eyes. He felt like crying. He was alive. But he wasn't whole anymore. He was going to lose his arm. He'd never be able to get his revenge on that vicious pariah. 

And that burned him far more then the thought of losing his arm. 

 

Altair was bored. These easy assassinations were dragging on and on, his novice rank making him go back to the bureau multiple times to relay information before actually going in for the kill. Sometimes he'd try to do it quietly just for the challenge, but he got impatient and killed all the guards just for something to do. He was getting close to journeyman already when it usually took novices months and years to get that high. But he'd been a master. 

The next mission was a doctor. He'd been known for lying to patients and doing unnecessary procedures to get more money out of them. No guards, nothing. Just a quick, easy kill. He went through the steps of finding informants and listening to what they had to say and going back to the bureau to let the Dai record what he found out. It was boring. 

Finally, he got to go find the doctor. He wasn't that hard to track down. Altair walked into the hospital and asked for him. When the nurses refused, Altair strode back to go through the rooms to find the bastard. 

He froze. The bronze man he'd killed in the desert was staring back at him. His arm was gone. The one Altair had hacked up. But he was alive. And he looked enraged. Those near-black eyes that had been haunting him since Altair thought he killed the Syrian were glittering and his lips were curled up into a snarl. 

He lunged and Altair dodged. He was an innocent. Assassins didn't kill cripples. The implication seemed to be plain on Altair's face and the one armed man growled and swung at him. 

“Finish what you started, you beast,” he yelled, throwing another punch. “I am Malik Al-Sayf and you ruined me.” 

Altair pinned him against the wall by his good arm. “I don't kill innocents.” Malik lifted his head and spat in Altair's face. 

“No, you only maim them so they're completely useless.” He snarled, thrashing. Altair used his weight to keep him still. 

“Stop it or I will kill you.” Altair said lowly. Malik's face started to crumple and he looked away.  
“Then do it. I have nothing left. I can't provide for my brother anymore. He needs..” His voice cracked and the man sagged against Altair. “He's in a coma. He needs treatment to keep him alive. It's all your fault. I hate you.” Malik glared up at him, his eyes red and his cheeks tear streaked. Altair blinked. He slowly released him and Malik slumped down onto the floor. Altair wasn't sure what to do. He'd harmed an innocent. And normally he wouldn't care, but this one always felt different. 

“Come on.” Altair offered his arm. Malik glared up at him. 

“Leave me alone.” Altair pursed his lips and hauled the man back up to his feet. Malik swung at him. “Haven't you done enough? Just kill me or go away. I don't want to see your fa-” Altair didn't know what possessed him, but he kissed him. Malik froze and started to kiss back before jerking away, snarling. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Altair walked away. 

He felt a little hazy when he went to kill that doctor, not really paying attention to the outside world. He looked down at the body detachedly, his mind locked onto that kiss. When he got back out, Malik was gone and there were nurses all over the place. He put his hood up and followed a few doctors who were talking. He disappeared from the hospital, way before anyone noticed something was wrong. 

 

Malik stared up at the ceiling, brushing his fingers over his lips. He felt stupid. Just a kiss and he was left burning and flustered. That was his enemy. He shouldn't have this horrible lust in his belly. And he was a man. Malik could get stoned to death. 

He turned onto his side, his amputated arm underneath him. Sometimes the phantom pain was so unbearable, he felt like he was dying. 

He turned again, closing his eyes. Why him? Why did he have to want the very man who did this to him. He made a frustrated noise and sat up, sighing. No sleep again tonight. He stood up and walked into the small living room to sit down and read. 

Later, he was putting more logs on his fire when he heard a scratching sound. He froze. A creak. He grabbed for his sword and stood still, listening carefully. 

Malik was grabbed from behind and he thrashed, trying to twist around so he could slash at the intruder, but he ended up pinned up against the wall, his one arm twisted painfully behind him. 

“Calm down. I won't hurt you.” that familiar voice sent a flair of lust down his belly and he stopped struggling. 

“You are hurting me.” he growled, shoving at him. The tension on his arm ceased enough for it to not be painful. “Let me go.” 

“Will you try to kill me?” Those stupid lips were right on his ear and Malik suppressed a shiver. 

“No,” he lied. The other laughed. 

“Yes you will.” His captor turned him around to face him. There was that handsome face that haunted him, Malik looked away. “Altair.”

“What?” Malik furrowed his eyebrows.

“My name.” Altair touched Malik's cheek so gently it hurt. “Will you tell me yours?” 

“No.” he growled. Altair smiled. He kissed Malik again and Mal struggled to get away before succumbing to the kiss, his body burning. Altair slid a hand around the back of Malik's neck, pulling him closer and teasing his lip with his clever tongue. Malik whimpered quietly. Altair pulled back and smiled, stroking his cheek. The gesture was so tender, Malik looked away, his chest aching. “Stop it.”

“You're beautiful.” Altair's lips met his again and Malik pushed him off. 

“I said stop.” He growled, turning his head. “I want to kill you. You ruined me.” 

“I'm sorry.” Malik felt enraged all of a sudden and shoved him.

“No. Get out. You don't deserve my forgiveness.” Malik picked up his sword again. “Get out. I'll kill you next time I see your face.” 

Altair left without another word and Malik was left with an aching heart and a burning body. He fell onto his bed with tears of frustration streaming down his face. 

“Damn him.. Damn him..” 

 

Altair felt alive. His amber eyes glowed bright as he ran along the rooftops, the taste of Malik still on his lips. He found himself wanting the one-armed man desperately. He'd tried to kill him, but he when he thought about it, it pricked at his chest. It'd be a waste. To kill him. He was all fiery anger and passion and the thought of him made Altair's belly fill with lust. That first kiss had ignited him in a way he'd only had once before. From someone who was now dead. Altair knew that once he'd had his fill of Malik, he'd get bored and leave, but he couldn't help but want the man anyway. 

When Altair got to his inn, he had to get his hand on his aching cock as soon as he shut the door. He let his head fall back and imagined Malik's angry glare at him. He came so hard his vision went white. 

 

Malik did his best to forget Altair. It was months later and he was doing better, learning how to live with one arm. He'd used the money he got for getting wounded to buy a house. He took a job in cartography. And he hated it. It was boring and the long hours were sucking the life out of him. But he couldn't take a normal job because he was missing an arm. 

He sometimes dreamed of Altair. His mischievous amber eyes and his scarred lips. His hot touch and searing kiss. He sometimes dreamed of Altair killing him. He once had a dream that Altair came into his room and made love to him and he woke up sweating and angry, tears stinging his eyes. He hated him. For making him like this. 

Malik thought about taking a wife, but he knew that he'd never be happy with her. Never be satisfied. Altair truly ruined him. Physically, emotionally. He ached and fell into depression, snapping at everyone who tried to talk to him. His body wanted Altair, but his mind so fiercely wanted him dead at his feet. And his heart hurt when he thought about him. He grew so frustrated that he isolated himself, focusing on drawing his maps and only speaking to customers when he had to. The friends he'd had were gone and he never had any family other than Kadar. And his little brother wasn't here to make sure he ate every day or took a bath. He was dying. Malik sent as much money as possible to help take care of Kadar, but he was so far in debt he'd never get out. His brother would remain in the hospital and eventually die. Malik can't help him. 

 

Altair searched for Malik in all his free time. He was starting to get desperate and none of the women at the brothel helped. He needed to bed Malik and then he'd be sated. Getting the man to come willingly was a large part of it and he nearly succeeded the last time he saw him. 

He tried for months to find Malik, but this was a big city. He couldn't find him. He searched everywhere, asked around for him, but no one's see him. Maybe he doesn't live here anymore. He was beginning to give up hope he'd find him, but he kept looking. 

Finally, he found him. Altair peered into the window to watch him a while. Malik looked tired. He was cooking something, his movements slow and practiced, his eyes sad with bags under them. He looked like he hadn't slept for weeks. It wasn't time though. He needed to wait before he could let Malik see him. 

So Altair followed him around for a couple days. It was a little pathetic and watching Malik made his stomach hurt, seeing him so wrecked. The man didn't eat much. He didn't sleep much, if at all. He wondered if it was him doing this to his newest obsession, but he rebuked that idea. He was too arrogant. He wasn't sure if Malik even liked him, let alone.. 

Malik sometimes would just go off, throwing things and snarling and throwing punches at the wall. He'd end up panting open mouthed as he glared down at whatever he threw. Altair didn't understand how someone's temper could be triggered by nothing, but something told him he was the cause. 

It was a few weeks later when he stepped into Malik's map shop warily, waiting just inside the door for Malik to notice him. 

“It's not ready yet. Come back tomorrow.” He said gruffly, not looking up. Altair smiled slightly.

“I'm not here for a map.” He said gently. Malik's head snapped up and his expression changed from shock to something softer before anger settled in. 

“What do you want? How did you find me here?” he growled, standing up. Altair touched the small knife inside his robes to make sure it was still there. 

“Relax. I won't hurt you. I need to talk to you.” Malik wrapped his hand around something behind his desk. Altair sighed. 

“Get out. I'll kill you if you don't. I can't stand your face,” he curled his lip, his eyes narrowed and his body language tight and angry. Altair let his own body relax and he noticed Malik's did a little. 

“Listen to me, I want to make it up to you-” He had an inkwell chucked at him and he dodged it. 

“You tried to kill me. I don't get why you think I'm just going to forgive you for ruining my life, you stupid dick,” Malik reached for something else and Altair moved, grabbing his hand before he could throw it. 

“I know that kiss affected you too.” Malik's angry face went red and he shoved Altair. 

“Get out! Now!” Malik went for his sword this time and Altair fled. His heart was still pounding when he reached the safety of the roof. 

 

Malik couldn't calm back down. He was so angry he was shaking and he could sit back down, fuck, why did Altair have to keep trying to weasel his way into Malik's life, why did he have to be so lodged inside him he felt like a bullet in Malik's stupid heart, painful and throbbing, sucking his life away. It wasn't fair, what Altair did to him. He was so wrecked. 

And worse, he knew. He knew Malik wanted him back, the arrogant bastard. Malik hated him for it. 

Malik snatched his sword and pressed the point to his throat, ignoring the humiliating hot tears that escaped his clenched eyes. He'd do this and it'd be over. It'd all be over. He wouldn't be in pain anymore. He felt arms siding around him, a warm body pressing into his cold one. 

“Don't.” a whisper. He let the sword fall from his hands and slumped into the body. He didn't want to care who's it was. He knew in the back of his mind, but he let himself curl closer to him, absorb the heat so maybe it'd fill his body with life instead of leaving it with the dead feeling from Altair. Malik felt hands touch his face gently and tilt his head back. He was being kissed and he kissed back. He felt his heart ache and swell and he pressed close to his savior, a burning nudge in the back of his mind telling him he knew he was Malik's killer too. 

 

Altair couldn't believe Malik had tried to kill himself. Had felt so much pain, he wanted to end it. Altair held him tightly, his chest aching. He thought maybe he was starting to love him. Altair kissed him, unsure of how else to convey that thought. He was ecstatic when Malik kissed him back. Finally. Finally he had him. But then he felt something and pulled back. Malik was crying. Altair knew it was his fault and he hugged him again, letting the one-armed man push his face into Altair's neck. 

“I'm sorry.” he whispered, holding him. He was stupid. Malik mumbled something. “What?”

“I hate you.” the words stung, but he knew he deserved them. He held Malik tighter. 

“I love you.” He let Malik tear away from him. His handsome face was twisted in pain. He did this. 

“Get.. get out.” he shoved him and Altair let him. “Out.” 

Altair left. “Fuck.” 

Malik collapsed onto the floor. “Fuck.” 

 

Malik had gotten himself together again after a few weeks of doing nothing. He was back at his dumb map shop and he did his best to forget Altair. Again. No matter what he tried, he could not get Altair's stupid smell out of his favorite shirt. He thought about burning it, but he decided to throw it under his bed and forget about it. 

He was doing better. He started sleeping more and making sure he ate at least twice a day. He felt less empty and took the steps to get his friends back. It was the first time in a long time he felt almost okay. He hadn't seen Altair and he thanked Allah. Only He knows what would happen if that idiot showed his dumb face again. 

Kadar was starting to show signs of mental function again and Malik started praying to his god again. He might wake up. If Altair hadn't stopped him.. 

“Shut up.” he growled to himself. 

 

Altair was keeping himself busy with getting his rank back up to master. He moved up the ranks quickly, killing the easier targets with discretion when he could. It made things unnecessarily difficult, but it kept him busy and his thoughts from Malik. That confession had left him feeling empty and sore. Malik's expression when he told him was haunting Altair and it was hard to keep going sometimes. This had moved from a strange fascination to a twisted longing; a spar between strangers to a vicious war between hearts. Whoever came out with less wounds won. 

Altair would be hard-pressed to win if he wasn't engulfed in this burning obsession with the other man, if he wasn't completely smitten. He felt like he'd fallen for some stupid trap. Which he probably had. Altair felt stupid. He should have known he'd want something he couldn't have. And now he was stuck with this stupid pain in his chest and an ache in his balls. And it was his fault. 

 

“Malik Al-Sayf?” 

“Yes?”

“I have some good news. I'm happy to tell you that your brother has woken up this morning. We're running some tests, but you can come in to see him at any time during visiting hours.”

Kadar was awake. He was breathing on his own and he'd opened those rare blue eyes and.. Malik almost forgot to answer the lady who called and he stammered out a thank you as he started getting his shoes on. He almost ran over a few people on the way to the hospital, but he didn't really care. Kadar was awake. He didn't have to be alone anymore. His beloved little brother was awake. 

He practically ran into the room, panting slightly as he looked into it. There he was. Kadar was sitting up, awake, and he was eating. “Kadar,” he breathed. His little brother looked over at him and smiled. It was a beautiful smile.

“Hey Mal.” It was just like always. That brat was acting like he hadn't just woken up from a coma. Malik strode right in and hugged Kadar hard. 

“Kadar,” he choked out. His brother hugged him back. 

“I missed you too.” Kadar said, rubbing Malik's back. Then he froze. “Mal..”

“What?” he looked up. Kadar was staring at his empty sleeve. He looked away, feeling self conscious. “I was attacked by the Mongoose. He hacked up my arm. I guess he missed the vital parts.” 

“Mal..” Kadar hugged him. “I'm so sorry.” Malik sighed. 

“And he knows I'm alive still. He's been.. bothering me. He's not trying to kill me, but I'd rather not talk about it.” 

“I'm glad you're okay, but.. what are you doing now? I know they don't let.. they won't let you back into the army, will they?” 

“I make maps. I have a little shop.” Malik shrugged. “It's not much, but it helped me keep up with your hospital bills.” he smiled and ran his hand over Kadar's hair. “And it was worth it.”

“Mal.. I don't think I can go home yet.” He said, leaning into his older brother. 

“That's okay. I'm going to visit you every day until you're well enough to come home.” Malik said, tightening his grip on Kadar. 

“It's not going to be a few weeks, Mal.” Kadar sighed. Malik nodded. 

“I know.” 

He would wait.

 

Altair watched from outside the hospital window. Malik's brother was just as handsome as he was. He looked a few years younger and was missing the beard, but otherwise they looked almost identical. And then those eyes. Altair hadn't seen eyes that color that wasn't on one of the enemy soldiers. They were beautiful. 

They seemed very close. Malik was very protective over him. And there was something odd.. The way Malik cradled his brother's face, the way the younger's hands lingered on Malik's arms. Altair wondered if their relationship wasn't strictly brotherly. It wouldn't bother him, but there's others that would react violently to it. 

They kissed. Altair almost missed it, but he saw them and his stupid dick jumped at the sight of them. They broke away with both of them looking flustered and a blush staining their cheeks. 

He was right. And now he had to protect them. They'd be killed if anyone found out. Altair didn't know what would happen if he had Malik torn away from him so viciously and he wasn't willing to find out. Even if the one-armed man didn't love him back. 

Altair watched them until Malik left. 

 

Malik held him close. He had to leave soon and he didn't want to. Maybe he could just steal Kadar away and they could leave the country. Neither of them had been outside of it, but he figured they could use a fresh start. Maybe Altair would leave him alone. 

They could go somewhere no one knew they were brothers. This thing between them had started only a little while before both of them got involved in this stupid war. 

Malik couldn't look back at him when he finally did leave. He didn't want those blue eyes haunting him while he was away. 

 

Altair really didn't mean to run into Malik this time. He was in the market, looking for something to eat when he looked up to meet the furious near-black eyes of Malik. He was being harassed by some soldiers and was fighting them spectacularly, for someone with one arm. He looked like a cornered wolf, snarling and waiting for a good time to lash out. The soldiers poked at his stump of an arm and Altair moved, his vision red. 

They all laid dead before him, Malik staring at him with a strange expression. The people around them started to notice the dead soldiers and were darting away. Altair grabbed Malik's good arm and dragged him from the spot. 

“Are you alright?” Altair asked, letting him go when they were safe. Malik growled.  
“Why do you even care? I rejected you. Leave me alone.” 

“I..” Altair looked away. “You were right. This is my fault. So I'm going to keep you safe. You and your brother.” He looked at Malik purposefully and the one armed man narrowed his eyes and Altair was suddenly shoved into a wall. 

“How do you know about that?” he hissed. 

“It doesn't matter. I won't tell anyone. It's dangerous, Malik. I'm going to protect you.” Altair said, not putting up a fight. Malik released him, to Altair's surprise. 

“Fine. Don't let Kadar see you. Ever. He doesn't need to know you're still hanging around like a lovesick puppy.” That quip stung, but Altair supposed he deserved it. 

“Can I ask you something?” Malik paused, thrown off guard. 

“I.. suppose.” He said cautiously. 

“I meant to kill you that day. How did you survive?” Altair held his breath, wondering if Malik would blow up. 

“I don't know,” the other man said quietly. “I called out on the radio and I guess someone was close enough to find me.” 

Altair nodded, thinking. “Maybe you weren't meant to die.” 

“Are you saying Allah stopped you?” Malik scoffed. Altair touched Malik's chin and kissed him. 

“I've never left a survivor before.” Altair walked away and disappeared into the crowd. 

 

Malik went home feeling frustrated again. This thing with Altair, whatever it was, was tearing him apart and he needed him to stop. He went to visit Kadar, but even he saw through Malik's mask. He went back home and paced a while before trying to sleep. This whole thing was slowly killing him. Altair might not have killed him then, but he will soon. 

He dreamed that Altair came to him and held him, pressing sweet kisses that felt like a new scorch mark on his soul. Altair was like a sweet acid, stealing away his life force as he dunked himself in him again. He felt so good but those gold eyes were haunting him in a way that made his throat feel like it was closing up and he might drown. Malik didn't know if he wanted to fuck him or kill him. Maybe both. In that order. 

Malik woke feeling irritable. He didn't go see Kadar that morning because he didn't want to snap at him. He went to his shop and opened it up, setting up for the day. Something was missing. He looked around, trying to figure out what was different, but he couldn't find it. He tried to ignore it and finished setting up, sitting down to work on a map he was commissioned for the other day. 

He didn't have any customers until far after noon, and it was only someone checking up on an order. Malik was bored. He finished three maps and then doodled a while on a piece of scrap parchment. He almost didn't notice the hooded man come inside. Well, he didn't notice him. Until the man set something down on his desk. An inkwell. That's what's been missing. He looked up. 

“Looking for this?” Malik went rigid. Altair. 

“What are you doing here?” he growled. Altair didn't look up. His face was darkened by the hood on his head and Malik couldn't see those amber eyes. He longed and dreaded it.

“I came to see if you'd make me a map.” Altair looked up finally and Malik avoided his eyes. This was ridiculous. 

“What makes you think I'll do anything for you?” Malik growled. Altair sighed and touched his hand. Malik flinched. 

“Malik, listen-” Altair started. 

“No, you listen. Just because you are protecting us does not mean we are friends. You ruined my life. I'm not going to forgive you for that. Ever.” Malik curled his lip. Altair, feeling frustrated, grabbed Malik's robes and pulled him forward to kiss him. Malik kissed him back after a bit and Altair loosened his grip to push a hand through Malik's hair, drawing out a quiet whimper from the one-armed man. Altair deepened the kiss, rejoicing when Malik responded by opening his mouth willingly. He petted him, sliding his tongue along Malik's and cradling his neck to pull him closer. 

The kiss ended too quickly when Malik jerked back, panting for breath and looking like an angry bear. Worth it? Altair thought it was. And then Malik punched him hard in the cheek. 

“Stop that.” He snarled, his face flushed red. Altair sighed. 

“Sorry,” Altair grumbled halfheartedly. Malik huffed.

“Liar.” Altair gave him a small smile. 

“Lying about being sorry I kissed you? Yes. I'm not sorry.” He said. Malik growled. You're good at it.”

“Shut up.” Malik snapped, blushing. Altair smiled. 

“So will you do it?” Altair asked. Malik furrowed his eyebrows.

“Do what?” 

“Make me a map.” Malik rolled his eyes.

“No. I have better things to do.” Malik turned away. Altair frowned. 

“Aw, c'mon. It doesn't have to be a big one. I don't know this city well. I just need the streets and a few places.” Altair touched his hand again and Malik jerked away. 

“Fine. When do you need it by?” He asked gruffly, pulling out his quill and pushing some scrolls to the side to look at a piece of parchment. Altair smiled. 

“Before next month. Just inside the walls of the city is fine.” Malik looked up and gave him a long glare. Altair shifted. “Thank you, Malik. I am sorry.” The glare turned harsh and Altair grabbed his hand and kissed it, smiling before turning away and leaving. 

Malik closed his eyes and sat down. His heart hurt. Stupid Altair and his mouth and his eyes and.. the confusing feelings Malik harbored for the idiot. 

Malik paused and dropped his head on the desk. He was in love with him. In love with Altair. The very beast that ruined his life, ripped apart his reality and forced him to rewrite it. Malik curled up and let out a wrecked sob. It wasn't fair. Love wasn't supposed to hurt like this, so much. 

He threw the inkwell against the wall and it shattered, the black liquid sliding down and dripping onto the floor. Malik glared at it. 

 

Altair watched him. It hurt him that Malik hurt so much. And he knew it was his fault. Altair felt a deep ache in him that told him he was coercing Malik into this. Which he was, but he couldn't stop now. He had to have Malik. If it ended the both of them, he'd have him. His desperation was growing and Altair didn't know if he could wait much longer. 

He left after Malik threw the inkwell. He couldn't bear to watch Malik suffer. Especially when he was the cause. He climbed up on top of the roof and sat there for a while, focusing on breathing. He had to have him soon. End Malik's suffering as well as his own. He'd find a way to seduce him. Find away so Malik couldn't deny his attraction anymore. 

He closed his eyes. This was unhealthy. He laughed to himself. He was an assassin. Everything he did was unhealthy. Malik... he deserved better. But Altair was too far gone, far too selfish, to want to let him go. 

Altair ran along the rooftops silently, his eyes wide open and alert. His target was somewhere around here. He took long enough. He closed his eyes and opened them, the altered colors of his Eagle Vision lighting up people below him. He saw his victim and dropped on him, his hidden blade out like a cat's claws, the steel glinting right before it sunk into solid flesh. Altair covered the man's mouth and then slid his fingers over his eyelids to close them. 

He disappeared before the guards noticed the man was dead. Discretion. He was getting better. He went back the the Bureau to give the Dai his feather. The man gave him some unnecessary tips and let him go. Altair didn't go straight back to headquarters. He swung by Malik's shop to watch him for a while before walking back to his Inn, figuring he could go home in the morning. Though, he wasn't sure he considered that place home anymore. He wasn't as welcome as he was before. Allah, he felt more welcome at Malik's place. 

He flopped onto his bed and sighed. Just him and his hand tonight again. He jerked off hard and fast with Malik's snarling face in his mind, and he came with a long groan of the other man's name and a shudder. 

It was fucked up. He couldn't find it in himself to care. 

 

Malik lay in bed, tired. He couldn't sleep, but he was exhausted and couldn't move either. He subconsciously kept running his fingers over his lips. That damned kiss that ignited him and made him burn for more. He couldn't have more, refused to let himself succumb to that beast. He'd just seduce him and leave. That's what he made himself believe this time. Malik couldn't stand the thought that Altair might love him back. Might treat him with the gentleness and understanding he needed. He was a murderer. Altair couldn't do anything gentle. 

Though in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but remember that delicate kiss to the back of his hand before Altair left. 

He rolled over and groaned. Altair's taste still haunted his mouth and no matter how much he scrubbed, it wouldn't leave. He was miserable, tortured by this. He hated him. 

And he loved him. Malik let the frustrated tears roll down his face again and he clenched his eyes shut. Fuck. 

 

Altair was feeling good. He'd drank a considerable amount of alcohol that he wasn't completely sure of the number and he wasn't regretting it at all. He was pleasantly numb. He stumbled out of his room and down the street, not caring where he ended up at. 

Naturally, he found himself at Malik's house. He slumped up against the wall and knocked sloppily on his door. The one-armed man answered with a growl and then snarled in fury when he saw who it was. 

“What are you- Are you drunk?” Malik looked outraged and he went to shut the door.

“Wait,” Altair said, sliding up the wall a bit. Malik pursed his lips. 

“What do you want,” he growled. Altair pushed off the wall and tried to move closer, only to collapse onto the other man. Malik made a small noise of surprise. 

“Sorry,” he slurred. Malik furrowed his eyebrows and pushed him off. “wanted to see you.” 

“I keep rejecting you, you pig-headed beast. I don't understand why you keep coming back. I don't want yo-” Altair kissed him. It was wet and too much and Malik pushed him off. “I don't want you.”

Altair backed off then, the emotional pain of plain rejection reaching through the drunk haze to grip his chest tight. He stumbled off, his sweet numbness dripping off his limbs and leaving his center to ache and yearn for Malik. He went back to his hotel and moped for a while before going to sleep.

 

Malik was thankful that the idiot was too drunk to kiss right or else he would have let him go further. He watched Altair walk away and let out a long breath. Stupid drunk idiot. Malik spent so much energy trying to rebuild those walls that Altair could tear down every time with just a kiss. And he was always left raw and hurt and open and Allah, he wanted Altair. He wanted him badly and it was stupid. 

Malik went back inside after a while and called Kadar and spent the rest of the night crying to him, finally breaking the long painful silence and telling his brother everything. Kadar kept quiet through the whole thing. Malik sniffled after he was done, angrily wiping his tears. 

“Maybe you should get with him.” Kadar eventually said. Malik choked.

“He tried to kill me! He wrecked my arm and ruined my chances of getting you out of there.. sometime soon. He's.. poison, Kadar. He's poison. I don't want this.” 

“I know. But you shouldn't put yourself through anything more than you have to. So why not? He seems to be infatuated with you.” Malik made a frustrated sound and sat down. 

“It hurts, Kadar. To even see him. I don't want to be.. in love with him.” Malik felt nauseous now that he said it. It was out in the open and it formed into a cold hard lump in his throat, a dead weight in his stomach. 

“Think about it. And know that I'm okay with it if it makes you happy. I know it doesn't now, but it might. Allah knows I don't.” 

“Don't say that. You do make me happy. Happier than that idiot will ever make me. I love you.” Malik growled. Kadar laughed. 

“Don't worry bout it. I don't make me happy either.” It hurt to hear him say that. 

“Kadar, you do make me happy. Don't put yourself down.” 

“Then why are you falling in love with him? Why aren't you happy?” Malik choked. That one stung. Kadar made an affirmative sound. “I know I'm not enough for you. It's okay. I can share.” 

“You don't need to. I don't love him like I love you. You are enough. You're perfect. Stop talking down to yourself or I'll come up there and spank you.” Malik growled. Kadar giggled.

“That's kinky, Mal.” Malik snorted and rolled his eyes. His sweet little brother was suffering too because of that bastard. Malik wanted to kill him. 

“Shut up and go back to sleep. You need your rest.” Malik pulled himself out of his head and glanced around the room. 

“Mal, I've been resting for months.” Malik winced. Kadar. He could just talk about it like nothing. Like Malik didn't spend all those months awake and exhausted with worry, praying to any god that would listen, breaking down not just a few times, wishing Kadar would come back and let Malik lean on him again. It was the worst year of his life and Kadar was joking about it. 

“Go to sleep. Eat something other than Jello.” Kadar whined a bit more, but finally acquiesced and hung up. Malik sighed. He felt tired. His chest hurt. His beloved little brother had almost as much self hate as Mal did. It was all Altair's fault. 

He wanted to kill him. 

 

Altair probably should have known better than to eavesdrop, but he hadn't been known to be the most logical man. Malik was in love with him. He was knowingly in love with him. Altair felt torn. He could use this information to get Malik, finally, or he could leave. He knew it hurt Malik. And it dug at him. But Altair was selfish and the want outweighed any guilt he had. 

He dropped down from his perch and went to knock on Malik's door, taking a long breath. Malik opened the door and they stared at each other for a long time. 

Altair moved first. He collided with Malik solidly, kissing him. Malik whined and kissed back, his eyes clenched closed. Altair pushed him into the nearest wall and slid his hands up layers of clothes to reach the smooth skin underneath, drawing a sweet sigh out of Malik. 

You're destroying him. Altair pulled back slowly and Malik's dark eyes searched out his own amber, but he avoided them. He should leave. He voiced this and Malik said something, but Altair already fled. 

 

Malik stared after him, feeling a little broken. He yelled and hurled a rock in anguish. He'd submitted to this torture and now he was paying for it. He went back inside and tore his clothes off, desperate to get Altair's scent off him.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror and stopped to stare. He was growing soft. He slid his hand over his belly. Maybe he should starve himself, waste away to nothing but bones. Maybe Altair would leave him alone. He felt so hollow inside. Burned out. He pulled at the skin on his face, soft fat that filled his cheeks. He finally set his gaze on that hideous stump. He touched the end gingerly. The scarring was pale white against his dark skin and it looked so alien. It didn't belong there. Malik slid his fingers up what was left of his arm. Maybe he should cut up his other arm so they matched. 

Maybe he should bore his eyes out, cut out his tongue. He didn't want them. He didn't want anything Altair tainted. He should get rid of his other hand, or maybe just peel off his skin. Because all of it hummed for him. It was too painful. 

Malik slid his hand over his chest. Maybe he should rip his heart out. End the problem. He saw it out of the corner of his eye. The knife he always kept by his chair. He could end it. It could be fast. He needed to take care of Kadar. He wandered to the bathroom to bathe, wash all the remnants of Altair off him. 

 

It'd been months since Altair saw him. He'd been trying hard to stay away, but he couldn't help but check up on Malik. What he saw left him in a horrified shock. 

Malik was skin and bones. His spine stuck out of his back and Altair could see his ribs. He looked like he was starving. Kadar was back home and he looked like he was scolding Malik. Altair watched them a while before getting up and leaving, feeling sick. 

This is your fault. He walked faster. He knew. He knew it was his fault. He did this to Malik, tore him apart. Because he couldn't make up his goddamn mind. He just wanted him so goddamn much it burned him. Altair didn't know what to do. He wanted to take care of him, make sure Malik and his brother had all they needed. He wanted to be with Malik, come home to his handsome face smiling instead of glaring at him, maybe give him a kiss on the cheek and tell him what was for supper. He wanted to lay him down and fuck him hard and make love to him and make him feel like he's the most beautiful damned thing in the world. But Altair knew that he wasn't good for Malik. He's gone for long periods of time and he gets moody and hurts people and the Order would end up dragging Malik in one way or another. 

Altair sighed and leaned against a wall. It wasn't fair. It was like they were right for each other, but at the wrong time. Wrong place. 

Place. Maybe he could get Malik to run with him. Away from the war, the Order. He was the best. He could hide them. Until the assassins thought they were dead or gave up. But even he knew they'd find them eventually. He'd never have peace. Malik needed peace. And safety. 

“Safety and peace, Malik,” he sighed. He could imagine his reaction. A scowl. A snarly retort. 

“Your presence here deprives me of both.” Altair closed his eyes as another stab of pain shot through his chest. Malik would never not hate him. Even if he eventually forgave him for everything and maybe even fell in love, he'd still hate him. Altair didn't know if he was willing to put himself through that. He was selfish and maybe a little obsessed with the thought of getting Malik under him, but this pain he was feeling was something he didn't really know what to do with. 

He could leave him alone. He could try to forget him, those burning coal eyes, his strong arms. Well. Now Malik had wasted away to skin and bones and Altair felt guilty. And he should. It was just something he wasn't used to feeling. It was a bit uncomfortable and he couldn't rid himself of it. 

He could kill him. The thought had passed through his mind a few times. Malik had even welcomed it. But Altair didn't.. think he could do it. He'd killed hundreds. And he didn't think he could kill one man. It would infuriate him if it wasn't Malik. If he didn't already know this stupid feeling in his chest was the terrifying concept of love. Altair was supposed to be a killing machine. He wasn't supposed to fall in love. It was scary. Malik had a piece of him. A piece he could easily use to manipulate Altair. 

Altair walked until he got home. He felt worn out and empty. He collapsed onto his bed and closed his eyes. It wasn't fair. 

 

Kadar was home. Malik was having a hard time adjusting to having him back, but he wasn't complaining. Even though Kadar harassed him all the time to eat something, you look like you're going to faint. And sometimes he did. But most times not. He needed to be this way. Maybe Altair would leave him alone if he wasn't physically attracted. 

“Mal, come eat,” Kadar said softly, gently coaxing him like he was an animal that might bite him. Malik blinked, realizing that he was. His stomach turned and he looked away. 

“I'm not hungry.” He didn't look, but he could see Kadar's face in his mind anyway, the worry and pain. It still hurt. I'm sorry, he didn't say. He should. It's his fault. All his fault. Kadar should be happy to be home, not have to deal with his older brother acting like a child. 

“I'm gunna kill him if he comes back. For doing this to you,” Kadar said, gesturing. Malik flushed and growled. 

“You make me sound weak and pathetic.” Kadar gave him a small smile and patted his cheek. 

“You might not be weak, but you are a little pathetic.” He said. Malik blinked and shoved him, making Kadar burst into giggles like he usually did. Malik smiled. He'd missed his brother. 

“I am not, shut up.” Kadar waggled his eyebrows and he looked ridiculous. 

“Make me.” He laughed then and Malik grabbed his waist and pulled him closer, growling in his ear. 

“Maybe I will,” he said before kissing him. Kadar didn't react right away and Malik pulled back, blinking. “Kadar?” 

“You really do love him, don't you?” Kadar said with a sad little smile that broke Malik's heart. Malik hugged him tightly. 

“Hush. I love you.” Kadar stayed silent and Malik held him closer, pushing his face into his sweet smelling hair. “I always love you.” 

“You didn't kiss me like you used to,” Kadar sighed, running his fingers up Malik's side, touching his ribs gently. 

“I'm sorry.” And he was. 

 

Kadar left. After everything, he got fed up with his brother's moping, ended their trysts, and left. Malik went to work at the most every other day, too weak from starvation to move in the morning. He ate less. His stomach was too tied up in knots, too busy trying to rip itself apart to want food. He couldn't sleep and his body was disintegrating. He should end it. 

He closed his eyes. He should end it. 

 

Altair was watching Malik. He didn't show his face because he was a coward, but he was watching. It hurt to see him like that. Slowly killing himself. 

It was completely by chance that Altair was watching when Malik when he decided to kill himself. Altair saw the flash of a knife and he moved, breaking down the door. Malik looked distraught and Altair lunged, grabbing the hand the knife was in and wrapping his other arm around the frail, wasted body before him. 

“I'm sorry, please. I'm so sorry,” Altair whispered to him, petting his hand so he'd drop the knife. Malik did and Altair moved his hand to pet his hair, holding him close. “I love you, I'm sorry.” 

A shudder ran through Malik and he crumpled against Altair. Altair felt the dampness from his tears and held him up, petting his hair. It wasn't fair; this wasn't fair, the fact that Malik had been diminished to this. 

“Come on. We need to get you to a hospital,” Altair said softly, pulling on him lightly. Malik didn't react right away, but he gave a small nod. Altair hoisted him up onto his shoulder, carrying him easily now that his beautiful musculature was gone. “I'm so sorry,” He whispered, pressing his face against Malik's side. 

It took over an hour to get there and Altair let out a sigh of relief when he could set Malik down where he was safe. The nurses hurried him away on a bed and Altair slumped against the wall, exhausted. Mal may have been light from malnutrition, but the longer he carried him, the heavier he got. 

“You're the one who brought.. Malik in right?” A nurse carrying a clipboard asked him, her big brown eyes boring into him. He felt uncomfortable. 

“Yes. Is he alright?” He asked, trying to get his eyes to focus again. The nurse frowned. 

“Well, this had to have happened over a long period of time.” Ah. “Eating disorders can be treated before they get this bad. He.. Doesn't look good, sir. But we'll fix him the best we can. Do you know him well?” Altair looked away. The guilt had already set in and his stomach turned. 

“Not well, no. I came to visit him because I heard he hadn't been doing well. Last I knew he was living with his brother. I don't know where Ka- The brother is.” Altair looked away. “He doesn't deserve this. Malik is a good man.” 

“Lets hope Allah thinks so too,” She said softly before leaving. Altair watched her go. He felt so empty. He was worried, but he didn't feel the pain in his chest anymore. His heart wasn't pounding. He felt dead. Blocked off from outside forces again. He could probably kill him, if he wanted to. Altair knew once he came out of this haze, whatever it was, he'd probably feel more guilt than he usually had broiling in his stomach. 

The hours he waited dragged on and he was left with a hard chair and his thoughts. The nurse came back out, looking tired. He watched her walk closer and she gave him a half-hearted smile. 

“We think he'll be alright. We filled his stomach and have him on an IV, and we're monitoring him closely, so I think he'll be fine. He's asleep, but you can wait in his room if you want.” He nodded and stood up, following her to Malik's room. 

He looked less gaunt now. Still too thin, too hollow, but his skin looked healthier. Altair touched his cheek. His fault, all his fault. “I'm sorry, Mal.” he whispered. “I'll make it better, I promise,” he said, running his fingers along Malik's jaw. 

“I promise.” 

 

Malik woke somewhere in the night and looked around, confused. He didn't know where the fuck he was. Then he saw the IV. He closed his eyes and laid back down. He was in the hospital. Altair didn't let him end it. Again. He clenched his fist and blinked, staring down at the hand that was in his. 

Altair. Altair was sitting beside him where Kadar should be, holding his hand like a mourning lover. Malik tensed his hand just slightly and felt the answering squeeze, even though Altair was asleep. He watched him for a while. Altair was handsome. Beautiful, even. Malik remembered vaguely Altair holding him and he closed his eyes, burning pain in his chest. Maybe it could work. 

Love. Altair said he loved him. Malik wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. We wasn't sure how he should take it. He knew he felt something for Altair, but it felt poisonous and it was killing him. Malik didn't want to feel anything anymore. 

Sleep couldn't claim him sooner. 

 

Altair woke to find Malik watching him. He stared back and they both didn't move or speak for a while. Altair squeezed his hand lightly and Malik's lips twitched and he squeezed back. Altair gave him a rare smile and Malik stared at him like he was the most beautiful thing in the world and he felt self conscious and looked away. 

“How are you feeling?” Altair broke the sweet silence and looked back at Mal.  
“I'm fine,” Was the quiet response. Altair touched his face. 

“You are looking better than when I brought you here.” Malik jerked back from the touch, blushing. “Sorry.” 

“Why are you here?” he asked quietly. 

“I.. I don't want you to die. I carried you all the way here. There's.. not much I wouldn't do for you if you let me in, Malik.” Altair squeezed his hand again. “I don't tell people I love them. But I love you.” 

“I don't,” He lied under his breath. “Love you.” 

The pain was back. It was like a cold splash of water in his face. He couldn't breathe. Altair stood up and left. 

 

Malik watched him go, holding his breath. He's lucky Altair didn't kill him. They both know it was a lie, Malik couldn't understand why it made Altair leave. His chest ached for him to come back. Damn it. 

“Altair!” He called as loud as his frail body could get out. He slumped back, panting lightly. Too much effort. He stared at the door. Nothing, not even a nurse. His heart hurt. 

Then Altair came back in, his face completely blank. Malik frowned. 

“I lied. I'm sorry. It's.. hard.” he closed his eyes. “I don't want you to leave.” Malik felt lips press to his and his eyes snapped open. He had hesitated too long and before he could kiss back, Altair pulled away. 

“Sorry,” He grunted, another mask on his stupid face. Malik felt frustrated. He reached up and tugged him down again to kiss him and it took Altair a few painful seconds to catch up and return it. Malik burned for him and he wrapped his thin arm around Altair's neck. 

“Should've known it was a lie.” Malik muttered, sliding his hand through his hair. Altair nodded and set his head against Mal's. 

“It was a bit too much to hear,” Altair sighed, closing his beautiful eyes. Malik felt comfortable for the first time in a long time and he just laid there, touching Altair now that he bared his soul. 

“I'm sorry,” He breathed. Altair looked up at him and his eyes seemed to have an unearthly glow and Malik stopped breathing. They kissed again and the one-armed man was so overwhelmed with stupid emotion that he felt hot tears escape his eyes and he clung to Altair. It was stupid and he felt dumb for crying. Rough fingers dragged along the underside of his eyes lightly and he opened them to look at Altair. 

“You're beautiful. Don't cry.” Malik's heart clenched and he shoved Altair, who blinked in surprise. 

“I don't want your pretty words. You've won. I'm.. yours. If you want me.” The golden-eyed man cracked a rare smile and kissed him. 

“I haven't stopped wanting you.” 

 

Malik was home and starting to regain weight. He was letting Altair take care of him and fuss over him annoyingly like a mother hen. Kadar eventually came back and he said nothing about their new roommate or the fact that Altair didn't let him do anything. Altair took care of the cooking and cleaning, even if he was really bad at the latter. 

“You don't seem to get any better at this, no matter how many times you do it,” Malik grumbled, watching Altair wash the dishes. Altair gave him a half-hearted shrug and Malik scowled. “Let the kid do it. He knows how to get them clean.” Altair stopped then and turned to face him, wiping his hands off. Malik watched him. 

“You're so sexy when you're insulting me,” Altair said dully, putting the towel down. Malik crossed his arms. “Fine. Work your brother to death. Put him in another coma. See if I do anything around the house anymore.”

“You're a bastard,” Malik growled, throwing a pen at him. Altair smirked. 

“A little.” Malik stood up from his chair and got up in his face. They hadn't had sex yet, or even shared more than brief kisses, so it was a little tense when they were this close, but it didn't faze Malik. He snapped his hand forward and grabbed Altair tight by the crotch, making the latter let out a breathy whine and straighten his spine. “If you're just teasing me, I'm going to be very unhappy.” 

“If you don't shut your damned mouth, I'll leave you like this.” Malik said gruffly, squeezing him. Altair let out a breath and arched. 

“ I should piss you off more often if this-” He was cut off by Malik's vicious demanding mouth, his hand pushing into his pants. Altair moaned into Malik's mouth, submitting to the onslaught of tongue pushing against his own. Malik gripped him tightly and took him apart too quick and Altair found himself coming so fast his head spun and he crunched forward onto Malik's shoulder as he released, a low moan on his breath. 

“That was disappointing,” Malik grunted bluntly, pulling his hand from Altair's pants. Altair sighed. 

“Haven't had anything for a while. Give me a minute. I'll be back begging for your attention in a bit.” he said, holding onto Malik. The raven-haired sighed and rubbed his back. 

“You better be,” he growled. 

Altair nuzzled his neck. “You're feeling good today then?” Malik snorted. 

“Better than usual.” he ran his hand up Altair's shirt, tracing his spine. Altair stilled and let Malik touch him. His hand was more gentle than what he was used to from Malik and damned if he wasn't going to soak it up. 

“Don't fuck on the table. I eat there too.” Kadar was home now and Malik groaned, dropping his head to Altair's chest. 

“You little cockblock,” Altair growled, petting Malik's hair. Kadar gave him a cheerful smile and went to his room. Mal sighed and straightened up putting an unfortunate amount of distance between them. 

“I'm going to bed,” he said before walking off. Altair tilted his head back and whined. So close. 

“Good night, Mal,” He called. He listened closely for a reply.

“Night.” And there it was. Altair smiled. 

“I love you.” 

“Go to sleep, novice!” he growled back. Altair laughed quietly and wandered to his own bed to do just that. 

 

Altair dreamed that he had giant tawny wings. The feathers were heavy and they kept him pinned to the ground. He tried to fly, lifting them with some effort and beating them as fast as he could, but it wasn't good enough. He couldn't lift off. He dreamed that someone tied his wings to cinder blocks and plucked his beautiful feathers until they were nothing but bloody stumps left. They stabbed him through the stomach and he woke up, feeling like he was drowning. 

He took a few long breaths, the lump in his throat making him want to vomit. He ran his fingers over his shoulders, longing to feel something there. He suddenly felt like he was being watched and looked up. Malik was leaning against the doorway, calmly observing him. 

“Are you alright? I heard you yell.” His voice was gentle and Altair thought he could listen to him talk all day if it was in that tone.

“Bad dream.” Altair said too quickly. Malik sat down next to him and Altair leaned into his warmth. “Stay here?” 

Malik nodded and kissed his jaw before making him lay down and laying beside him. He slung an arm across Altair's chest and Altair relaxed. “Go to sleep.” No dreams plagued him after that. 

 

He awoke before Malik and he wasn't sure why he didn't do this before. Malik looked so peaceful, almost happy in his sleep. His cheeks were flushed and his long eyelashes stood out dark on his tan skin. He was beautiful. Altair watched him sleep quietly, taking in every rise of his chest as he breathed and every twitch in his face. He wanted to burn the image in his mind forever and he tried hard to imprint Malik in his memory. 

Malik was really admirable. He was handsome and even more than that, he had depth. He was strong and loyal and fiercely protective. Malik might have a temper like a hurricane, but he was righteous most of the time. He was driven and hard working. Altair was in awe of him a lot of the time because he knew he would never measure up to Malik. Altair had his own strengths, but none were quite like Malik's. 

The spell was broken when Mal woke up and his expression was angry already. Altair sighed. He looked away and waited for the other man to wake fully. 

“Altair?” the sleepy confusion was endearing. Any irritation Altair had melted away and he turned back to look at Malik. Dark eyes stared up at him and lo and behold, a gentle smile eased his handsome features and it caught Altair's breath. 

Altair couldn't help it, he leaned down and kissed him sweetly, pushing his rough fingers through Malik's hair. A warmth sat in his chest when Malik returned the kiss with a happy sigh. Altair pulled back to look down at Malik. 

“What is this?” Altair breathed out, tracing the other's face. Malik smiled again. Altair thought of his smile as a rare and precious gem that he intended to treasure and coax out as often as he possibly could. 

“Whatever it is, it tastes good.” Malik replied, leaning up to kiss him. Altair was inclined to agree. They kissed until they had to separate for breath and it left Altair feeling a little light-headed. What he felt for the darker-skinned man was powerful and a little overwhelming.  
“I want you,” Altair said, watching Malik. The latter blinked and stared up at him, his cheeks flushing. 

“I.. I haven't.. Not everything,” Malik sputtered out, his face red. Altair blinked.

“You haven't had sex? But Kadar..” Altair furrowed his eyebrows. Malik growled. 

“I haven't.. been on the receiving end.” He said sharply. Oh. Altair smiled a bit at him fondly. 

“That's alright. We don't have to do anything you don't want to.” Altair kissed him and Malik sighed, relaxing. “You can take me if you want.” 

Malik turned red again. “Are you sure? That's.. not something you have to offer.” 

“I've done it before. I like it just as much as taking.” Altair smiled at him. Malik licked his lips. “It's been a while, so you'll have to prepare me.” 

“Allah, shut up.” Malik sighed before kissing him, sliding his hands up Altair's shirt. Altair shut up. He kissed him back and Malik ran the pads of his fingers over Altair's nipples and the latter breathed out a sigh, relaxing into the touch. Mal had a very careful way of touching. He was obviously very skilled at this and he brought Altair to full hardness in just a few light, well-placed touches.

A few more and Altair was gasping for more. Malik placed a wet kiss on Altair's collar bone just as someone knocked on the door. They both heaved a sigh and Malik got up and wandered to the front door. Altair lay back and basked in the happy buzzing in his body. 

Malik came back grumbling about something and Altair sighed. That was the end of that. The gold-eyed man rubbed Malik's back, murmuring a few words of sympathy. 

“I'm going to go get Kadar so we can have breakfast. I'm cooking so you better be hungry. Kadar!” Malik called before wandering down the hallway to retrieve his brother. Altair smiled to himself as he sat down at the table. He froze when he heard an anguished scream and moved fast towards the sound, praying to Allah that they were okay. 

He shouldn't have looked. He should have grabbed Malik and protected him from the horrid sight that was in that room. But he did look and the sight made him sick to his stomach. 

There were drops of blood all over the floor. The desk in the corner was covered in it and blood was splattered across the mirror and then smeared down like Kadar had tried to catch himself after he.. 

The boy was on the floor. Limp and lifeless, he stared out at them with empty blue eyes. His cheek was stained red from the puddle of blood he was lying in, but his face was eerily peaceful. It dawned on Altair that this wasn't done by another person. The horror of it all really set in then and he took a step back. No. 

Malik was very still, slumped slightly, just staring at the dead body of his brother. Altair realized he was in shock. He touched Malik's arm and the man turned his head slowly to look at Altair with a blank expression. 

“Malik?” Altair asked cautiously, tugging his sleeve gently. Malik blinked slowly at him and the other man moved closer to touch his face. “Mal, come on,” he said gently. 

He pulled Malik out of the room and held him for a while. Altair knew in the back of his mind that this was somehow his fault, but he had to make sure Malik was okay before he pondered on it.  
He pulled Malik into the kitchen and sat hm down, kneeling before him. He bit his lip and reached up to touch the one-armed man's face. “Malik,” he said softly. The dark eyes stared sightlessly through Altair and it gave him chills. “Malik,” he said louder. 

Finally, Malik acknowledged him with a quiver of his bottom lip and his eyes focused. “He's dead,” The wrecked, low tone of Malik's voice made Altair ache. Altair pulled him down to lean their foreheads together. 

“Shh.” Altair rubbed Malik's rigid back, feeling his spine. “I'm sorry.” The latter slumped forward and let out a low, mournful sound that seemed less human and more anguished creature. “I've got you.” 

“No.” At first it was so quiet, Altair almost didn't hear. But his stomach dropped at the second time, a louder growl as Malik shoved him, pain and anger flooding in his tearful eyes. “Leave me alone.” 

“Malik,” Altair tried, touching the man's shoulder. The other snarled and smacked at him. 

“Get out, you jackal!” Malik looked so broken, but Altair knew it would only hurt them both if he stayed, so he turned and walked out of the house, the familiar pain in his chest returning as he set out to find somewhere else to mourn the loss of Kadar and of Malik's love. 

 

He'd overturned the table, broken two of his chairs, put at least seven holes through the wall, and knocked over his bedside table before he finally collapsed onto his bed and cried, exhausted. He'd finally gotten Kadar back and he'd killed him. Maybe not directly, but Malik knew he had pushed him away by having Altair here. And now this was his price to pay. It was too much. Because it wasn't only his. Kadar was the one with the brunt of it and he had suffered enough to end his life. 

Malik probably shouldn't have pushed his last support away, but he didn't care. Not now, when his heart had been severed from his chest and what light was left in his soul had been extinguished completely and utterly. He was on his last leg and he could feel himself wavering, thoughts of skeletons and blood and swollen lungs swirling around in his mind along with the sight of his brother's glazed eyes as they stared up at him, dead. 

Dead. Kadar was dead. Malik knew their relationship wasn't healthy, but he would have never allowed it had he known.. But he should have known. He should have taken the time to protect his brother instead of letting his selfish emotions overwhelm the love he has for him. 

Malik sat down and wiped furiously at his tears, angry that he was so weak. Angry that he was too weak to save the only one who loved him unconditionally. 

 

Altair was despairing as well, but he didn't have such a strong bond with Kadar as Malik did. He still had his cold rational side and the second he pulled out of the anguish of being pushed away from Malik again, he realized that Kadar's body still needed to be moved so Malik could get past this. 

So, naturally, he decided he would do it. Altair couldn't go through the front door for fear Malik would explode again, so he'd have to do it through a window. Not difficult, he'd done it before. 

What he didn't take into account was the fact that the window was small and while Kadar was also small, Altair was not. About halfway through pulling Kadar's body through the window, Altair realized this was probably not a good idea. In fact, it was probably the worst idea he'd had because he was now stuck, wedged between the sharp wooden sill and Kadar's dead weight. In his frustration, he laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation and wriggled to try to dislodge himself from the window. 

He almost pitched himself backward out of it, but he saved himself. Kadar's body, however, was not so lucky. It dropped from the window and Altair held his breath, praying frantically that Malik wouldn't notice. He waited until he was sure Malik wasn't about to come out and stare at him with mortification and horror. He scaled down the side of the house and dropped just beside the body. It made him a little sick to see Malik's sweet little brother like this, but he had to finish it. 

Altair hefted Kadar onto his shoulder and carried him to the cart he had secured for this. A few awkward shoves later, Kadar was in the back and Altair was whipping the horse into motion, anxious to finally put Kadar to rest. He feared the boy would linger if he wasn't buried and would haunt them until Malik killed himself too. 

Digging was not as easy as he thought. He was exhausted and soaked with sweat and blood, but he kept digging, knowing it needed to be deep enough to keep the smell from luring animals. It seemed to take an eternity and finally he deemed it good enough, he laid Kadar's body in it and sighed as he started to cover him with the displaced dirt. 

Finally, he was done. He thought about returning to Malik, but he figured Malik needed to be alone. He would watch him from a distance like he did before. So Altair rode hard and returned to Masyaf. He was welcomed, albeit hesitantly, but still welcomed. He was their best, after all. He was allowed to bathe and change his clothes before seeing the Master to beg forgiveness. He was thankful for that one small favor, if nothing else. 

 

Malik had calmed down. Or at least, that's what he believed. He sat in the dark with his sunken, tired eyes and soft, short breaths, like he thought he didn't deserve the breath he had. Altair was gone and he was left here to stew in what they'd done. 

He thought about the sweet release of suicide again, but he stomped out that idea quickly. He didn't deserve it. He deserved to suffer. And so he did. 

 

Malik was coping. As well as one like him coped. It had taken months, but he was finally letting himself taste the possibility that Kadar's death wasn't his fault. He was slowly getting over Altair since he kicked him out, though it still didn't sit with him well that Altair didn't come back. He knew Altair was more stubborn than that. 

Malik had started his map shop back up and went back to his quiet lonely life. Cartography was exceedingly boring, but it was something he was good at, so he stayed. His days consisted of long hours drawing out maps and then he went home and went to sleep. Sometimes he ate, sometimes he didn't. He bought Kadar a tombstone and put it close to his home so he could visit it sometimes, even if Kadar wasn't buried there. 

And that was the thing. He'd gone up, blame his masochistic tendencies, to look at Kadar once more before he'd call someone to take care of it and plan a funeral. But Kadar wasn't there anymore. The room was still bloody, but Kadar was gone. Malik looked everywhere multiple times to make sure maybe Kadar wasn't dead and he'd gotten up, but he found nothing. 

Some part of him knew that Altair probably had something to do with it and that fact settled him a bit. So he spent a long time cleaning the room completely before sealing it off, not touching anything of Kadar's. His things seemed too sacred. He avoided that part of the house entirely if he could help it.

He sometimes thought he saw them. Altair and Kadar. Glimpses of shadows out of the corner of his eye when he's reading or a full on face smirking at him from the window before vanishing when he looks again. It's putting him on edge and making him feel like he shouldn't be alone. But he deserves to be alone. Alone and in anguish. With his throat tightening up every time he hallucinates his dead brother and ex lover. He deserves to wake up in terror when he dreams of Kadar's pale eyes and Altair's cold ones both watching him in distaste before wrapping icy hands around his throat to finally end him. 

He closed his eyes. He deserves this. 

 

They killed him. Altair stared at his hands. He was dead. Or. He had been. He took in a breath to test the waters and his throat hurt a bit, but he was alive. He hadn't any idea how. Al Mualim had chosen to see his temporary desertion as treason and Altair had felt the knife pierce his chest. He knew he'd died. 

But. Here he was. He ran his fingers over his chest and found nothing. It was too strange. He glanced around, finally taking in his surroundings. The infirmary? He sat up. It was slightly different than what he remembered, but there was no doubt he was there. He stood on wobbly legs, lifting his arms to balance himself. He felt like he hadn't moved in a century. 

“Altair? You're finally awake.” Al Mualim's voice, usually soothing or even irritating at worst, was sending chills up his spine. Altair turned to look at the old man. “I almost didn't expect you to. It's been near half a year.” 

“Why am I not dead?” Altair demanded, narrowing his amber eyes to dangerous slits. He wasn't Masyaf's eagle here. He was a viper and he would strike if his charmer was not careful. 

“Because I made it so. You needed to learn a lesson and the order would not see a traitor run free. You are alive only because you are useful to us.” 

Altair felt cold. Useful. That's all he was. It would not normally bother him. He was just a weapon, a means to an end. But he had been more than that with Malik. He'd dropped his cold exterior and let someone inside and now Malik was a permanent sharp little rock lodged in his heart. He knew he would love Malik forever. His first and only. 

“No,” he said it softly at first and Al Mualim blinked, unsure if he heard correctly. “No,” he said louder, meeting the man's one-eyed stare with matching intensity. “I won't be a weapon for you anymore.” 

“Then I will take the life I granted back to you,” Al Mualim growled, pulling out his sword. Altair lunged and then dropped low when the old man swung his sword. Altair hit Al Mualim dead in the solar plexus with his fists before twisting away, darting around the larger man. 

As soon as Al Mualim landed his first hit with that sword, Altair knew he wouldn't win with just his fists, so he bolted. He was bleeding and still woozy from being unconscious for so long, but he was strong. He ran until he could jump on a horse; the entire order now were on him, all of them deadly fighters. He ran the horse until it refused to go further and then he ran some more, pain making his vision blur. He knew he needed to stop the bleeding in his stomach, but he couldn't stop. He found another horse and stole it, riding it hard as far as it could go. 

He was dizzy and sick by the time he reached Jerusalem. He managed to sneak in with some scholars, but the blood lost and lack of food and hydration was weighing on him heavily. He couldn't remember most of the trip, but he found himself on Malik's doorstep again. He didn't remember even knocking on the door, but he remembers it opening and a confused face staring down at him. He made it. He finally went unconscious.

 

Malik got ready to go to his shop late that day. He didn't feel like getting out of bed like he usually did, early enough so it was still dark out. He opened the door to start the short walk and almost tripped over the unconscious body at his doorstep. 

It was Altair. Malik stared, frozen in shock. Altair was here. He looked.. dead, but he was here. Malik leaned down to cautiously touch his neck for a pulse. Altair was warm still. Malik breathed out and silently thanked Allah he stayed home late. 

Altair wouldn't wake, however. Malik propped Altair up against himself and then he noticed the deep wound still oozing slowly. He swore and struggled to get the larger man inside, having one arm was ironically hindering. 

After laying a few sheets across his bed, Malik laid Altair down on it and stripped off the dirty white robes that Altair wasn't wearing when he left. 

He tried not to let his gaze wander over Altair's naked body, but Malik really couldn't help it. He carefully cleaned the wound, earning a few twitches from Altair, but nothing more. He must have lost a lot of blood. Calling a doctor for a house call was expensive and would cost more than Malik had. Malik knew some basic first aid thanks to his military years, but nothing that could help this bad a wound for more than a day or two. 

So he sat and dribbled water down Altair's throat slowly, watching him in case he finally woke. It was stupidly ironic how much he felt for the same man that ruined him. Malik sighed and tried to get Altair to swallow some mashed food, but to no avail. He'd have to wait until the idiot woke again. 

He watched him, unsure how he felt about Altair being here. He obviously came a stupidly long ways to pass out on Malik's doorstep and hope that the one-armed man still cared enough about him to keep him from bleeding to death. He couldn't say that he didn't think about letting Altair die, but he knew it would hurt him later if he did. This entire thing was ridiculous. Malik wondered what Altair did to get this bad. 

Another wash of his wound and then Malik was dozing off in the chair beside the bed. Briefly, as he drifted off, he wondered if he deserved this rest. 

 

Altair opened his eyes no sooner than three days after he found Malik. He stretched and wriggled all his extremities to make sure he didn't lose any, panicked a little before remembering that yes, he was missing his ring finger, and yes, it was before he almost bled out on Malik's doorstep. He tried once to sit up and almost threw up, so he lay still and waited for Malik to wake up. 

The other man was sleeping on a chair, draped over the edge of the bed. Altair cringed, knowing the position would hurt Malik's back. 

“Malik,” Altair called softly. The other man stirred, blinking sleepily at him. 

“You're awake.” Malik smiled slowly and Altair watched, intrigued. “I wasn't sure you would.” 

“You can't get rid of me that easily,” Altair said, taking Malik's hand and smiling. The one-armed man snorted. 

“Truly. But perhaps that's a good thing.” Malik sat up and stretched, rolling his shoulders. Altair kissed his hand. 

“Malik,” Dark eyes met amber and Altair sucked in a breath. “I'm sorry. For everything.” Malik cupped Altair's face. 

“There's nothing to forgive, my friend. You're not the same man. Let's start again so maybe we can forget and begin to heal. Both of us.” Malik pulled Altair close and kissed him. Altair held onto him for dear life because it was Malik he had wronged so horribly and it was Malik who offered him redemption that he didn't deserve but he so desperately craved. 

“I love you,” Altair breathed against Malik's lips. “I love you.” 

“And I you.” And again, a heretic's kiss changed them. Altair prayed to Allah it was for the better.


End file.
